Careful who you invite in

Max looked away. Bit her tongue against the dozens of excuses that threatened to fall out. She wanted to brush it off. Sweep it under the rug and pretend nothing had happened. Somehow force things to go back to normal, back to how they’d been just a few minutes ago. She, unfortunately, knew that wasn’t something she could do.

Damon wasn’t likely to let a reaction that strong go that easily. He wasn’t going to take “it’s nothing,” nod along, and forget about it like she wanted him to. Max didn’t want to talk about it, but she also knew it would be far better if he heard it from her, rather than him going digging and coming to an even worse conclusion on his own.

“It’s not dented,” she grumbled. It could be. She’d hit it pretty damn hard, but she didn’t bother looking up to confirm his claim. Instead, she put all her attention to picking at the skin beside her thumbnail, chewing anxiously on her lip. Considered how she wanted to go about explaining, what exactly she wanted to tell him. Her silence was a thoughtful one.

Taking a breath, she wrapped her arms a bit tighter around her knees and picked a random cabinet to look at. It was easier than meeting his gaze. “He’s just…some guy. Chase.” She started slowly, picking her words carefully. The last thing she wanted was for Damon to look at her the same way everyone else had, by the end of this. “We went to school together. Back in California.”

Her expression tightened. “We moved there the summer before I started high school. So I was the weird new freshman, and he was the senior everyone already knew because they’d all grown up with him. Your stereotypical attractive, popular jock that everyone liked.” She took a breath. “Including me.”

She shook her head, remembering just how ridiculously infatuated she’d been. How there’d practically been hearts coming out of her eyes any time he passed by her in the hallway. How she’d swooned when he smiled in her direction. God, she wished she could go back in time and tell her younger self to stay the fuck away from him.

“I had this massive crush on him, and I didn’t think he even knew my name.” Maybe that’d been part of the reason why she’d liked him. He’d been safe. Unattainable. A guy she’d known she never had a chance with, so there was no risk of getting hurt.

Oh, how wrong she’d been.

“But then he found me in the hallway one day and asked me to go with him to a party someone was having, and I was just…over the moon.” She let out a quiet, bitter laugh. “God, I was so fucking excited. I was just…a dumb kid.”

Old anger and hurt and mortification came rushing back, all at once, and Max swiped at her eyes with a huff. “I shouldn’t have gone. I shouldn’t have drank. But he just…he’d hand me more, and I didn’t want to say no, you know? I just…wanted him to like me. I wanted him to like me so fucking badly. So, when he brought me upstairs, I…we—”

She cut herself off when it suddenly started to get difficult to breathe again. Her expression twisted as her chest tightened. After a few quick, short breaths, she squeezed her eyes shut and swung her fist back into the wall beside her, cursing. “Shit.” She felt her fist go through the drywall—that one was definitely more than a dent—but pulled it out and covered her face with both hands, taking a second to breathe through it. “…Sorry. I’ll pay for that,” she said quietly.

His attention lifted to her face, and his expression hardened when she called herself stupid again. “No.” One word, immediate and absolute. “We’re not doing that.” Damon shifted closer, one knee against the floor beside her leg. “You had a crush on him, and he knew it.” His thumb moved slowly over her knuckles, more for something to do than because her hand actually needed tending. “You went to a party. You drank too much because some guy you liked kept handing you drinks and you wanted him to think you were fun.” His mouth twisted. “Congratulations. You were a teenager”

There was nothing amused in Damon’s eyes when he continued. “You were allowed to have terrible judgment and a stupid crush and get excited because the guy you liked finally noticed you.” A faint, humorless smile touched his mouth. “You’re apparently still working on the terrible taste in men part.” The joke aimed at himself lasted only a second before his expression settled again. “But whatever happened upstairs? That isn’t suddenly your fault because you went up there with him.”

Damon didn’t ask her to finish. Didn’t ask what exactly Chase had done or how far it had gone. Every ugly question was there, demanding answers, but the way Max had stopped breathing told him enough. “You don’t have to tell me the rest.” His voice lowered. “Not tonight. Not ever, if you don’t want to.” His jaw shifted. “I already know enough to know I hate him.”

His gaze moved briefly toward her phone on the counter. For one dangerous second, Damon considered how easy it would be to pick it up. Chase had a name now. A profile. Probably a last name if Damon looked long enough. Finding him would be almost insultingly simple.

Then Damon looked back at Max and dismissed the thought. Chase could wait. “And then he went around school telling everyone you were a slut.” Damon’s mouth curled around the word with obvious disgust. “Funny how you’re sitting here blaming yourself when he’s the one who apparently needed to make sure everybody heard his story first.” His eyes sharpened, but he stopped himself from going any further with that thought. “He made school so bad you moved across the country, and somehow you’re still the one apologizing.”

Damon shook his head. “No.” He released her hand only to reach up and pull hers away from her face, gentler than the movement had any right to be considering the anger running through him. His fingers slid along her cheek afterward, brushing away the tear she’d tried to swipe at earlier. “Look at me.” His voice softened. “Before you go down that spiral, I’m not looking at you differently.”

There was enough in Damon’s expression to make it obvious that Chase’s continued wellbeing had abruptly become a subject of debate. He seemed to realize it too, because he exhaled through his nose and shook his head. “And before you start worrying about whatever homicidal thought is currently happening behind my eyes, that’s not your problem.” His hand settled against the side of her neck. “You don’t get to tell me something like this and then immediately start trying to manage my reaction so I don’t do something stupid.”

His mouth twitched faintly. “I’m Damon. I’m going to do stupid things regardless. Very established personality trait.” Then his face softened again. “But I’m not going anywhere.” Damon shifted fully beside her, shoulder against the wall, then pulled her toward him without hesitation. One arm went around her shoulders while the other settled around her waist, bringing her against his chest. He wasn’t tentative about it. Max had spent enough of the last few minutes folding herself smaller and smaller, and Damon wasn’t going to sit three feet away pretending distance was helping.

“If you really want me to let go, you can tell me.” His hand moved slowly along her back. “But otherwise, you’re stuck with me.” Damon rested his cheek against the top of her head, eyes closing briefly as he kept her there. “And for the record, seeing his face and freaking out doesn’t mean anything is wrong with you.” His fingers tightened slightly in the fabric at her back. “Your brain got blindsided. Then I touched you. Apparently your body got there before the rest of you did.”

His gaze dropped toward the hole beside them. “Which, judging by the wall, your body takes very seriously now.” A faint smirk finally appeared. “Honestly, I’m a little offended you didn’t punch Chase’s picture instead. Would’ve saved me the drywall.” The joke faded, leaving his voice quieter when he spoke again.

"Not confident," Bonnie hummed, letting go of the control of the moment to be swayed by Damon momentarily. "Just," a beat. "Drunk, I guess." She probably won't remember this, and that's what will get her in trouble later. Elena's not here, Caroline's not here, and nobody but the two of them on this crowded dance floor could even guess that they were in the wrong place at the wrong time in their lives. That they've slept together once before. That they had a clunky kiss when they thought it was the end of the world. That she's a witch and he's a vampire and he's dating her best friend. They were just a man and a woman underneath strobing lights and terrible music, and Bonnie can hear ringing in her ears, can see no visions coming to the surface other than colors, a kaleidoscope of colors which could mean nothing, or it could mean everything but she's ignoring it with all the power just thrashing against the surface of her skin.

Damon's not warm to the touch, but it's warm enough in here that it's illusioned enough that he has body heat. It's her that's being careful. A drunk witch doesn't focus on anything but making sure she doesn't burn him, doesn't make him go flying across the room and hit some poor random, just makes sure he stays here, pressed to her like he belongs to her like this. For right now, he does.

Damon guides her into a spin and she smiles. It's genuine, braids spreading out and twirling along with her before they thump against her back with a small bite to her lip. "Did you know they have a whole book series and several movies about sparkling vampires?" Questioned sarcastically with a brow raise, gaze tilting downward to watch the glimmering effect that's now spread across his shirt from where she's been.

A trail of Bonnie laced around Damon like footprints.

"I think you'll be alright."

But would they be alright? Bonnie doesn't know how to respond to his speechlessness. She doesn't know how to see him when he's not being overboard and cocky, or when he isn't doing something impulsive and ruining things for himself or others. Right now it was just them, and Bonnie can tell that they're both struggling with keeping the line untouched, uncrossed, untampered with because nobody's moving. Nobody's taking that extra step to separate them before that line becomes blurred. Damon just offers another dance, and Bonnie nods her head, sighing out deeply as she can still taste bourbon on her mouth. "I'll dance with you," She begins, "But I can't promise you I won't be waiting for your timing to be off." a pause before she adds playfully, mocking him, "Again."

The night seemed young still. There were more people trickling into the club to the point where closeness would've been inevitable. Bonnie takes a chance to run a hand through dark strands, letting the ends twirl around her fingertips. Magic can be felt between the two of them, a gentle squeeze to the hand he's holding as she shrugs her shoulders.

"I don't want to make any more bets, Damon." She says simply. "I just want to spend my buzz having fun and not thinking about what's going to happen outside of those doors." Like any ounce of happiness she puts forth would be snatched away from her if she were to think too hard.

His smile returned, small and crooked, and Damon lifted their joined hands slightly before letting them fall between them again. “So no bets.” He gave her fingers a brief squeeze. “No tomorrow. No catastrophic Bennett overthinking.” His eyebrows lifted. “And no speeches about consequences because I am currently at least…” Damon glanced toward the abandoned glass he’d left somewhere behind them as though it might contain the answer. “Three bourbons past caring about consequences.” Maybe four. He decided three sounded more respectable. “And you should have fun.” His gaze moved back over her face, catching briefly on the glitter scattered across her skin before settling on her eyes again. “You’re allowed to do that, Bonnie.” The words felt dangerously sincere the second they were out, enough that his mouth tightened slightly before he added, “Within reason.” His eyebrows rose. “Obviously. I’m not recommending the Damon Salvatore school of emotional stability here. That involves significantly more bourbon and substantially worse impulse control.” A pause. “Very effective, though.”

Damon’s grin widened when the ends of her braids brushed against his hand. “And apparently body glitter.” He looked down at the shimmer still smeared across his shirt and shook his head. “I’m never recovering from this.” The sarcasm came easier again, but something underneath it had shifted. He wasn’t moving away. If anything, each time the crowd pressed in around them, Damon seemed perfectly content to let it erase another inch of space. He guided her into another turn, slower this time and far more deliberate after she’d mocked his timing. When she came back toward him, he caught her smoothly at the waist and gave her a deeply smug look. “There. Perfect.” His brows lifted. “You looked nervous.” He leaned slightly closer, amusement pulling at his mouth. “Thought I was going to miss again, didn’t you?” The grin widened. “Little faith, Bennett.”

His forehead nearly touched hers when another wave of bodies shifted around them. Damon didn’t seem to notice at first, that was becoming something of a theme. His eyes dropped briefly to her mouth before returning to hers. There was bourbon humming pleasantly through him, Bonnie’s hand still against his cheek, her body moving with his, and for once nobody seemed to need anything from either of them. Damon swallowed and tilted his head slightly. “You know what your problem is?” The question came softly enough that it almost sounded serious. He waited half a second. “You think too much.” His mouth curved. “Which is especially unfair because you make the rest of us look bad.”

His hand moved a little higher along her back, settling comfortably between her shoulder blades as they swayed. “So tonight, don’t.” Damon’s eyes held hers. “Don’t think about the doors. Don’t think about tomorrow.” His smile turned crooked again. “And definitely don’t think about whatever deeply irresponsible decision led you to trust me with your good time. That one’s already done.” Someone clipped his shoulder as they squeezed past, making Damon glance up automatically. His gaze skimmed over the crowd and stalled for the briefest second. Across the room, beneath a shifting wash of light, there was a flash of blonde beside dark hair, two familiar shapes almost close enough to make something in the back of his mind catch. Then people moved between them, the lights changed, and whatever he thought he’d seen was gone. Damon blinked once, frowned faintly, then dismissed it just as quickly. Too much bourbon. Too many people. Everyone started looking familiar after a while.

His attention dropped right back to Bonnie. “Where was I?” His eyes narrowed thoughtfully before the smirk returned. “Right. Being profound. Terrible look on me.” He caught the wrist of the hand still resting against his cheek, fingers curling loosely around it without actually pulling her away. His thumb brushed once over the inside of her wrist, absent and almost thoughtless. “But yeah. It makes sense.” His voice had gone quieter again beneath the music. “You’ve spent enough time not having fun. So have some.” There was no joke attached to it this time. Damon just looked at her for a second.

There's no holding back her humor anymore as the huntress steps to him, her hands gently holding his face as he processes this deep wound to his pride. The big bad vampire hanging upside down from a tree. Frankly...she could see how it looked and if it wasn't so funny, maybe she'd empathize with him. "Mhmm...gotcha...Dean dies." His lips are tender despite the situation and his next words cause her to smile against them. "I know, I know. Being thoughtful is bad. Only causes trouble."

The huntress looks up at the branch then to the tree, softly hanging onto him as she tries to assess how to get him down. "Okay so...don't hate me but I'm not exactly sure how to get you down without making you fall on your face. They uh...they didn't teach this one in Girl Scouts, but uh...just hang tight- sorry...hold on."

She squeezes his hand before walking over to the tree. "You know, for as much normal hunting I did as a kid, you'd think I would have at least seen these before...but I think...I think I can figure this out." Her knife moves to the rope, fingers carefully picking at the threads as she tries to find the rope to lead him safely to the ground.

"As sweet as it is that you came out here, I thought Stefan told you to stay back. The last thing we need is something picking up a vampire's scent, in fact, I'm pretty sure those were your words when your brother volunteered to come out here. Regardless, I think that-"

The next snap of the rope isn't as loud, but it still doesn't stop the look of shock on Gwen's face or the gasp that leaves her lips as the rope holding Damon in the air comes crashing down with him to the forest floor. "Shit! Damon!"

She's on her knees next to him quickly, holding his face once again as she looks him over. "Oh my god...are you okay? Are you hurt?"

"And all this time I thought vampire's flying like a bat was just a myth. Did you know that Sammy?"

Dean's voice breaks through the trees and instantly Gwen's eyes squeeze shut, her hand now moving to Damon's chest to keep him on the ground.

"Can't say I did."

Sam's voice causes the huntress's head to turn, looking back at the two Winchesters, the oldest beaming with pride and enjoyment, the youngest had a smirk on his face, and while it wasn't as loud as Dean's, there was still no hiding his amusement. "I thought you guys went back into town."

"Are you kidding? There's some weird flying bats around here."

"Dean."

"We wanted to make sure you were alright before getting too far out."

"...I'm okay...I'm just going to get him untied and then we'll head back too. Call me if you see something tonight, okay? Please? Don't go running in here without a plan or at least letting me know."

"Ah, c'mon sweetheart, we're kings of the forest now. Last ones standing. Hey big guy- remember, ice first heat later." Dean shoots the vampire a wink with a click of his tongue before turning to make his way out.

"....hey...be safe?"

"Always. You too."

Damon sat up abruptly, catching Gwen’s wrist before her hand could slip away from his chest. Not hard, just enough to keep her close while his other hand reached for the rope twisted around his ankle. “I tried. That was very mature of me. We should acknowledge the personal growth before I commit homicide.” He pulled at the knot once, discovered it had cinched considerably tighter during his unexpected reunion with the forest floor, and his expression darkened. “Fantastic.” Damon glanced down at it, then back toward the trees. “Apparently I’m keeping it. Maybe I can strangle him with it later.” Instead, he hooked his fingers beneath the rope and snapped through the remaining fibers with one sharp pull. The severed piece dropped beside him. His ankle was already healing from whatever bruising the fall had managed to cause, leaving behind nothing except dirt, torn leaves caught against his jeans, and a thoroughly wounded sense of superiority. He brushed some of the debris from his coat before stopping suddenly and looking down at himself. There was a leaf stuck to his chest. Damon plucked it off very slowly. “I hate nature.” The declaration came with far more conviction than anything he’d said all evening.

He tossed the leaf aside and pushed himself to his feet, rolling one shoulder before reaching back to brush dirt from his coat. Damon had survived bullets, werewolves, torture, burning, starvation, vervain, witches with grudges, and more than one century trapped in the emotional equivalent of a house fire. Somehow getting dropped out of a tree in front of the Winchesters felt worse. His attention returned to Gwen and the irritation didn’t disappear exactly, but it changed shape. Damon’s eyes moved over her quickly, starting at her face. "Apparently when the Winchesters say they’ve set traps around the woods, what they mean is they’ve turned the entire place into a homicidal summer camp.” Damon tossed the bark aside. “And before you say it, yes. I know. I walked directly into it.” His expression warned her that acknowledging that fact too enthusiastically would have consequences.

He bent to retrieve her knife from where it had ended up near the tree, turning it once in his hand before offering the handle back toward her. “As far as Stefan telling me to stay behind…” His mouth crooked. “You know Stefan.” Which was apparently the entirety of Damon’s defense. “Also, technically I agreed that he shouldn’t come out here." He brushed past the argument with shameless ease because the truth was annoyingly simple. Gwen had gone into woods where something dangerous had been prowling around, Damon had lasted approximately as long as it took him to finish a drink before deciding he hated not knowing whether she was alright, and then he’d come looking for her.

Damon stepped closer again, lowering his voice. “And you were taking too long.” There. That was as close to admitting concern as he was apparently willing to get after the evening’s assault on his pride. His fingers caught lightly at the front of her jacket, tugging her the last little distance toward him. “So I came to make sure you hadn’t gotten yourself eaten by whatever mangy supernatural mutt is running around out here.” His eyes searched hers briefly. “And instead I got attacked by a tree.” Damon looked almost offended all over again. “Not exactly how I pictured the rescue.” The faintest smirk finally returned. “Still think I deserve some credit for showing up.”

His hand slid from her jacket to her waist, settling there easily before his attention shifted past her into the trees. The humor thinned slightly as the woods went quiet again. Damon tilted his head, listening, and whatever expression had been on his face sharpened instantly. There was movement somewhere farther out. Not close, but close enough. His fingers tightened against Gwen’s side. “Okay.” The word was quieter now. Damon’s gaze stayed fixed on the darkness between the trees for another second before dropping back to her. “Comedy hour’s over.” He moved between her and the direction of the sound almost without thinking about it. “We’re going back.”

A rock cutting her feet is the least important thing in the world, but his touch is warm against the current, and the coldness of the water is immediately turned neutral at the heat of his fingers. Bonnie's lips press into a thin line, a nod to her head as she shifts closer to him. "Home is supposed to be where our friends are." Because that's what's always come first to Bonnie. Her friendships with those around her. Her loyalty to love and to keeping people alive. To making sure they stay in her life longer.

"But since we've been back everything just seems," There's a pause, eyebrows narrowed as she tries to chew and spit out the right word for what's so glaringly obvious. "Wrong." another beat of silence, worry lines making their appearance as she doesn't meet his eyes yet. She refuses.

"Backwards."

It should be reassuring that Damon feels the same way but it doesn't. Not even close. Even at the ends of his soft confessions, her brain feels like it's been on overdrive, pulsating and wracking against the witch's skull. Even being at the lake has her guilt looming. Stewing.

You can't feel that way about me. It's on the tip of her tongue. She can practically taste its vowels and the shortness of syllables on her jaw. She can feel it become weighted like sand when she forces it back down, swallowing down any more words of refusal because they're far past the laughing it off as a mistake that won't happen again. They're far past silly banter. Now it's just heavy and awkward and Bonnie wishes her grams were here to pull her out of her own head.

But because she isn't, Bonnie is stuck making the hard choices herself.

It's then where Bonnie makes the choice to look at him now, a slow rise to her head against the now star studded backdrop. The moonlight acts like an outline to his dark features, and while Bonnie usually would make a sarcastic comment about how he was sparkling or glowing or whatever corny comment she could think of to ruin the mood, she doesn't.

The witch moves her hand to rest onto his shoulder, letting her palm feel the softness of his skin. There's water droplets making pathways on his skin where her fingers have been, and Bonnie forces out a breath that she didn't even know she was holding, the wincing at her throbbing wound under the water becoming even more of an elephant in the room before she's letting that same hand drape down to grip onto his bicep as a way of keeping herself sturdy.

There's still a crumb of shyness about her while she stands up straight. The water comes to her upper back, but she's still naked. Still in the proximity of his also naked body.

"I don't know how I'm going to show you my foot." Bonnie says, almost abruptly as she laughs softly. "It's dark and we're in water, so the blood's already probably mixed in with the poor fishes' ecosystem."

Her smile is seen underneath the glow of the moonlight, large green eyes closing momentarily before opening again.

"But if you're going to play doctor with me, I'm going to lay back and let you do the inspecting." She murmurs, letting her hands drop from his frame before using her arms as ores, gently walking backwards and positioning herself into a floating position beside him. What she could feel from the waves are being pressed against her skin, and she sighs. Not in pain, but in relief.

To be in water surrounded by nature. The trees, the stars, the moon.

To be around Damon, who she's felt the safest with since she's been back home.

“Here?” He glanced deliberately around the lake. “Bennett, I appreciate that the prison world drastically lowered your standards, but this feels extreme.” His attention came back to her floating beside him, the faint smile staying put despite himself. “No plumbing. No room service. Terrible liquor selection.” He lowered his voice. “And I’m pretty sure that fish over there has been judging me for the last five minutes.” Then his eyes dropped toward the water. “Also, you’re bleeding into our new living room.”

Damon moved before she could drift farther away, catching her gently by the wrist first, enough to stop her without startling her. He waited until he had her attention before his other hand slid beneath the water, finding her calf and then her ankle. There was none of the earlier playfulness in the touch now. His grip was careful, practical, supporting rather than pulling. “Okay, Florence Nightingale, hold still.” He brought her foot closer to the surface, leaning down slightly as moonlight rippled across the water. Seeing anything was still nearly impossible, but vampire eyesight gave him considerably better odds.

His thumb brushed lightly along the side of her foot. “There.” A shallow cut crossed the outer edge near her heel. Not dramatic. Not even particularly deep. Enough to bleed, enough to sting, but nothing that required the emergency room scenario he’d threatened her with five minutes ago. Damon looked up at her, his expression turning appropriately grave. “Well, devastating news. Amputation.” He paused just long enough to sell it. “Probably from the knee down.” The seriousness lasted exactly another second before a smirk ruined it. “You’ll adjust. I hear peg legs are making a comeback.”

His fingers remained around her ankle while he checked the cut once more, brushing carefully around it rather than over it. “It’s not bad.” That part was genuine. “You probably caught a sharp rock. We’ll clean it when we get back.” The word slipped out easily. Back. Damon noticed it afterward. Back meant the boarding house. Mystic Falls. Elena. Caroline. Stefan. Every unfinished conversation they had temporarily abandoned on shore along with their clothes. He released Bonnie’s ankle slowly and let her foot sink beneath the surface again.

Then he looked out across the lake. The moon stretched across the water in broken silver pieces, shifting whenever the surface moved. There was something irritatingly peaceful about it. Damon had spent most of his existence suspicious of peaceful things. Tonight seemed determined to test that theory.

“We could.” His voice was casual enough that it almost sounded like another joke. Damon glanced sideways at her. “Live here.” The smirk returned. “I’ll build the cabin. You can forage for berries. We’ll become deeply unpleasant forest people who threaten hikers.” He considered it for a second. “Actually, I’m starting to like this.” He moved backward through the water, letting himself float beside her instead of standing over her. His arms spread loosely beneath the surface, face tipping toward the sky. “And whenever someone from Mystic Falls shows up asking us to fix another supernatural catastrophe, we just pretend we don’t speak English.”

He turned his head toward her. “You’re going to have to commit, though. No Bennett guilt face when Caroline starts banging on the cabin door.” There was teasing in the words, but not cruelty, because Damon understood what she meant. She wasn’t asking him to build a cottage beside the lake and start chopping firewood. She meant this. The quiet. The absence of everyone else. The strange little pocket they had carved out where neither of them had to immediately decide what any of this meant.

Damon let his gaze wander back toward the stars. “We can stay tonight.” No joke followed. “We don’t have to solve anything.” There was something almost strange about Damon Salvatore saying that. Normally he preferred solutions that involved compulsion, violence, or extremely questionable decision-making. But Bonnie had spent enough time carrying everybody else’s problems. He wasn’t going to make her carry this one tonight too. “The world can survive without Bonnie Bennett for a few hours.” His head turned slightly toward her again. “And if it can’t, frankly, I think that says more about the world than it does about you.”

The corner of his mouth lifted as he let himself drift closer until their shoulders nearly brushed whenever the water nudged them together. For once, Damon didn’t fill the silence immediately he watched the stars.

Damon exhaled slowly. “You know what’s annoying?” His voice broke the silence eventually, and he didn’t bother waiting for an answer. “This might actually be the best idea you’ve had all night.”

Damon looked toward shore. Their clothes were still piled somewhere along the dark stretch of sand, forgotten beside shoes and whatever remained of the evening they had planned before everything had gotten complicated. Then he looked back at Bonnie. “No Elena.” The words came carefully. “No Stefan. No Caroline. No covens. No vampires losing their minds. No apocalypse scheduled before breakfast.” His eyebrow lifted. “Just tonight.” That was something he could offer without lying. Damon had made enough promises in his life that sounded beautiful until reality came along and gutted them. He wasn’t going to promise Bonnie forever beside a lake. But he could give her a few hours where nobody wanted anything from her.

He turned onto his back fully and floated, folding his hands loosely over his stomach. “Although if we’re officially living here, we need rules.” His expression became thoughtful. “Rule one, I get the good side of the imaginary bed. Rule two, absolutely no decorating with inspirational witch plaques.” His eyes slid toward her. “And rule three…” Damon paused dramatically. “You’re responsible for explaining to the fish why their ecosystem suddenly tastes like Bennett blood.”

@bourbonxblood from here

She flinched bodily when a hand landed on her knee, her next breath catching in her throat. She was hyperaware of that small bit of pressure. Of the thumb smoothing over her jeans. Wild eyes snapped from her phone to the hand, following it up the attached arm until she was looking at its owner’s face. There was no recognition in her eyes at first. Max was too far in her own head. All she saw was a man touching her when she did not want to be touched. All she heard, despite the words coming out of his mouth, was the ringing in her ears.

She blinked and suddenly she was across the room. Her back hit the wall hard, the stool she’d been sitting on toppled over, her phone next to it on the floor. If she still had a heartbeat, she was sure it’d be beating right out of her chest by now. Her eyes flit around the room, but it was just the two of them there. No party, no Chase, no music blasting from a sound system somewhere. Just a kitchen. Dark hair, blue eyes, concern written in every line on his face…

“…Damon,” she croaked. It was Damon. Damon was here. Max was okay because Damon was with her. She hugged herself. Dug her nails into her arms in an attempt to ground herself. Sucked in a shaky breath, looking around again, trying to get reoriented. Right. She was in Damon’s kitchen, in his house, freaking out over a goddamn picture, and probably scaring the shit out of him.

She took another breath. Then another. Leaned heavily against the wall, keeping her knees locked so they wouldn’t give out on her completely. “Sorry.” She swallowed. Slowly, she nodded. “I’m here. I’m…I’m here. Sorry.” She was furious with herself for acting like that, and completely mortified that he’d seen it, but those feelings took a backburner while she continued to work on breathing normally.

Damon was here. She was with Damon. Damon was here. She was with Damon. A mantra that was repeated over and over in her mind. Tears prickled at her eyes, but she didn’t dare tear her gaze away from him. Slowly, it got easier to breathe. She no longer needed the mantra. She loosened her grip on her arms. Sank to the floor, sliding down the wall, and sat, wrapping her arms around her knees.

“Yeah,” he said when she finally croaked his name, his voice quieter than usual and stripped of its usual bite. “It’s me.” He didn’t go after her. It went against nearly every instinct he had. Damon wanted to cross the kitchen, put himself directly in front of her until she stopped looking around the room like something terrible might materialize in the corner. But considering his hand on her knee had just sent her halfway across the house, he figured forcing his way into her space probably wasn’t the winning strategy. So he stayed where he was and let his eyes follow her instead.

He watched her breathe through it. Watched the wildness gradually leave her face and her shoulders loosen by degrees until she finally slid down the wall and pulled her knees against herself. Then came the apology. Damon’s mouth tightened. And another one. By the time she got to I don’t know why I did that, his eyebrows had drawn together. “Okay, first of all, you can stop apologizing.” There was a little more Damon in his voice now...not sharp exactly, but enough to break through the strange, fragile quiet that had swallowed the kitchen. “ Furniture casualties are minimal.” He glanced at the overturned stool. “I think we’re surviving.”He bent and righted it, mostly because he needed something to do with his hands. Her phone was still on the floor beside it, and Damon looked down at it for a long second. He crouched and picked it up, but he didn’t wake the screen. He didn’t swipe through anything or try to find whatever she’d been looking at. The temptation was there, but whatever had been on that screen had done enough damage without him turning it into an interrogation exhibit. He set it face down on the counter.

Damon leaned back against the counter and folded his arms, giving her more space than he normally would have tolerated. “You’re okay. And before you hear that as me saying nothing happened, that’s not what I said.” His gaze moved over her carefully, catching the stiffness still lingering in her posture, the way she’d folded herself smaller on the floor. “You’re here. You know where you are. You know who I am.” His mouth pulled faintly at one corner. “Which is fortunate, because finding out you’ve suddenly forgotten me would be terrible for my ego.”

Damon pushed away from the counter and crossed only part of the distance between them before lowering himself onto the kitchen floor. He sat several feet away, back against one of the cabinets, one knee bent lazily in front of him. Far enough that she didn’t have to worry about him touching her again, close enough that he wasn’t abandoning her to deal with it alone. He rested an arm over his knee and looked at her.

That part cost him more than he let show. Touch was easy for Damon. Physical reassurance was infinitely easier than sitting across from somebody he loved and watching them hurt when he couldn’t fix it. He knew how to pull her against him, knew how to put a hand at the back of her neck and keep her grounded there until the rest of the world stopped being so loud. Sitting still was harder. Damon tipped his head back against the cabinet and let a few seconds pass before his gaze drifted toward the phone sitting facedown on the counter.

“You were looking at something.” His jaw shifted once before he looked back at her. “You were staring at your phone like it personally offended you, and when I touched you, you looked at me like I was somebody else.” There was no accusation in it. Just the simple collection of facts he had, and he hated how few there were. Damon could handle enemies. Give him a name, a face, a reason, and he knew what to do with it. There was comfort in a problem he could physically remove from the world. This was different. There was something sitting behind Max’s eyes that he couldn’t see, and apparently it had been there long enough to make her body react before she even understood what was happening.

His fingers tapped once against his knee. “So either your phone has become sentient and terrifying, which honestly feels inevitable, or something on it scared the hell out of you.” He let that sit between them without immediately pressing for more. No pressure. At least, not much. Damon was still Damon. When she dismissed it again, saying she didn’t know why she’d reacted like that, his eyes narrowed slightly. “Maybe you don’t know why it hit you that hard.” That, he could believe. “But you know what you were looking at.”

(Dr. Charles “Call Me Charlie” Grant. She’d hated him and his stupid, always calm voice. His it’s-impossible-to-get-a-rise-out-of-me attitude. Max had always felt like an idiot whenever she’d snapped and snarled at him and didn’t get anything more than a raised eyebrow, the scratching of a pen against paper, and the offer to talk about why she felt that way.)

There were no real excuses for what he’d said. He wasn’t trying to make something up, wasn’t trying to talk circles around her, wasn’t playing mind games. He sounded like he was being honest. Baring his soul to her because he was scared of her leaving.

But Damon could be very convincing when he wanted something. Max knew that. That was part of the problem.

He moved between her and the door, and she grit her teeth. The duffle bag stayed on the bed for the moment, her back turned to him. Look at me first. She didn’t want to. Almost kept her eyes averted completely. She’d never been able to resist him for long, though. Not since the day they’d met.

Maybe that made her a sucker.

She caved, reluctantly meeting his gaze. Tears glittered in her eyes. She swallowed thickly, but didn’t look away. “…I don’t know what to believe anymore.” The words were quiet. They almost felt like they were someone else’s. Like Max wasn’t the one speaking. Like she wasn’t even there anymore. Just an observer, watching this train wreck happen in real-time.

It took everything in her to keep her resolve from crumbling when he apologized. Damon was saying all the right things. He was taking responsibility for his actions, explaining his words but not trying to excuse them, basically begging her to stay. She wanted so badly to believe him. She really did.

She also knew she needed him. Control wasn’t something she had, as he’d stated. Especially not when she was emotional. She couldn’t control her speed, her strength, her hunger. If she left, she’d truly be navigating being a vampire on her own. She’d definitely hurt more people, because Max didn’t have a clue what she was doing, and had no way of getting herself blood bags to keep the hunger at bay. She didn’t have anyone other than Damon to help her—to teach her—either.

Even if she decided she never wanted to see him again, she knew logically that she had to.

Yet he was still moving away from the doorway. He was still letting her leave, if she wanted to—which she didn’t. She wanted to stay, hear him say nice things, and let him make it up to her. She wanted him. But the trust that’d been between them was as destroyed as her apartment.

“I don’t…” Her expression twisted, hands balling into fists at her sides. She looked away as a tear finally fell, the indecision clear on her face, in every shift of her weight, in the way her teeth pressed into her lip. “How am I supposed to believe anything you say? How am I supposed to trust you after that?”

Trembling hands pushed through her hair, tugging lightly at it before releasing it. “I’ve been with guys that did that before, Damon. They say nice, pretty things to my face, and then behind my back they say I’m crazy. I’m a slut. I’m convenient. I can’t…” Her voice shook along with her hands. “I don’t want to leave. I don’t. But…I can’t do that again. So…what, I’m supposed to just stay and constantly worry about what you’re saying to people when I’m not there?”

His eyes dropped when she wrapped her arms around herself. “Okay.” The word came quietly. Damon dragged a hand over his jaw, buying himself another second before looking at her again. “Then you don’t believe me.” It wasn’t angry. It wasn’t a challenge. He gave a small shrug that didn’t match the strain in his face. “Not tonight. Not tomorrow because I manage to string together another heartfelt speech. You don’t have to.” That admission looked like it physically hurt him, but he kept going.

“Occupational hazard of being a manipulative asshole.” The joke barely survived the trip out of his mouth. Damon looked down for a second before his expression settled again. “So me standing here telling you I mean it isn’t going to fix anything. I could swear on Stefan and you’d still have to wonder if I was lying.” His gaze returned to hers. “And I hate that.” Not because she was doing anything wrong. Because he’d put the doubt there.

Damon glanced toward the duffle sitting on the bed, but he didn’t move toward it this time. “You asked me how we fix it.” His jaw flexed. “We don’t fix it tonight.” There it was. Probably the least Damon Salvatore answer he had ever given. “We start there.”

He stepped back another pace, giving her more room instead of less. “You stay because you want to stay. Not because I block the door or because I’m currently your only supernatural customer service representative.” A tiny flicker of humor crossed his face before disappearing. “And not because I stand here saying I love you until you feel guilty enough to unpack. If you want the relationship part of this to stop for a while, it stops.” His voice was steady now, though there was something almost brutal about how deliberately he said it. “You want your own room, you get one. You don’t want me touching you, I don’t touch you. You don’t want to sleep next to me, you don’t. You want to yell at me every time you remember what I said, I’ll probably yell back because I’m still me, but I’ll listen.” A faint, humorless breath left him. “And I’ll still teach you.”

His eyes moved briefly around the apartment again. The damage looked different now. Not evidence of something wrong with her. Evidence that she’d been left holding emotions too big for a body that could suddenly punch through drywall. “The vampire part doesn’t become leverage.” Damon’s voice sharpened there. “Ever.”

He pointed toward himself once. “You being with me is not the admission price for blood bags, control, whatever else you need. If tomorrow morning you decide I’m the last person on earth you want romantically anywhere near you, I’ll still make sure you eat. I’ll still teach you how not to snap a doorknob off because you’re pissed. I’ll still make sure you know what to do when somebody gets a paper cut six feet away and suddenly their pulse is the loudest thing in the room.” His mouth tightened. “You don’t owe me a relationship because I can help you survive this.”

That mattered enough that he let it sit between them. Damon had been selfish about plenty of things. He’d probably be selfish about a thousand more before the century was over. This could not be one of them.

“As for the rest…” He breathed out slowly. “I don’t know, Max.” His eyes flickered with something frustrated, but not at her. At himself. At the fact that there wasn’t some clever loophole hidden in the problem. “I don’t know how I prove what I say when you’re not around.”

He glanced down at his hands. “The thing is, I can promise you I won’t say something stupid ever again, but that would be bullshit and you’d know it.” His mouth pulled sideways. “I am going to say stupid things. I’m probably going to say the wrong thing when I’m angry. I’ll get defensive. You’ll get mad. We’ll fight.” Then his expression grew more serious. “But I can promise you I won’t make this the weapon again.”

Damon was quiet for a moment after that. Her question had sounded so desperate. Where do we go from here? He wished he had a better answer. Something clean. Something that made tonight disappear and put them back where they had been before she’d stopped in that hallway. But he didn’t. So maybe honesty meant admitting that too.

“We go slowly.” His voice softened. “Which I already hate, by the way.” A tiny trace of the Damon she knew surfaced there. “We don’t pretend I didn’t break something because I finally figured out how to apologize for it. And you don’t have to decide tonight whether you forgive me.”

His eyes dropped briefly toward the duffle again. “But if you don’t want to leave…” Damon hesitated, and the hope that crossed his face was so immediate he couldn’t hide it fast enough. “Then don’t.” He pushed himself away from the dresser, but he didn’t approach her. “Stay.”

The word was almost painfully simple. “Be pissed at me here.” His mouth twitched faintly. “Take the guest room. Take my room and exile me to Stefan’s. He’ll be thrilled.” The humor faded, leaving something rawer behind. “Just don’t make yourself go somewhere you don’t want to be because you think staying means everything is forgiven.”

Damon looked at her for a long moment. “It doesn’t.” He nodded faintly toward the bag. “Leave that packed if you need to. Hell, put it by the front door. If knowing you can walk out whenever you want makes this feel less like a trap, then it stays there.” That one hurt him. It showed. But he meant it. “I can’t demand you believe me, Max.” His jaw tightened. “But I can give you enough time to decide for yourself whether I’m telling the truth.”

"not unless the fries have cheese on them." being difficult on purpose, besides . . . cheese fries did sound good right about now to eat her feelings and worries away as the glow of her phone illuminated olive features, opening it to caroline's message box once again, fingers typing a million more question marks before hitting send. "i'm not sure about that. sounds like you want to help and i've never known you to genuinely want to without causing something in the midst." confused look shot his way when elena lifts her gaze back up on damon, having major doubts about that.

The remark about doing things for a good friend softened his expression for barely a second before Damon glanced away, watching the bartender instead. “Yeah. I’ve noticed people tend to do stupid things when they care about somebody.” His eyes returned to Elena. “Present company included.”

At the mention of cheese fries, Damon gave a small nod toward the bartender. “Cheese fries. Apparently we have standards.” He caught the way her attention dropped right back to her phone, the repeated messages doing nothing to make Caroline answer any faster.

Then Elena looked at him like she was waiting for the catch. Damon stared back at her, almost offended. “You really have a terrible opinion of me. Fair, but still.” He set his glass down, turning slightly toward her. “Maybe I do want to help.” His mouth curved again before she could make too much of that. “Don’t look so suspicious. It’s unsettling.”

It's Damon that becomes her anchor, pulling her against his chest and keeping her there. She doesn't remember even inviting him at this point, but she's happy he's there. Sober Bonnie must've made a bet, but the Bonnie he's dancing with was a little too out of it to even remember if there was a prize at the end. She could go for spicy ramen if she won. She wonders if there's a place nearby. The witch melts into his touch further, and if he was talking to her right then it was going in one ear and out the other, but she was happy in this moment that it almost snaps her back into reality with that fact alone.

"I believe you," Bonnie says, letting their bodies melt and move together slowly, gently, the crowd seemingly falling away at the two's enmeshment, but Damon had a habit of making everything else disappear or seem unimportant with him around. His voice against the shell of her ear makes her shiver slightly, goosebumps lining her arms now as a smile creeps up on her face and stays there until her cheeks feel like they're hurting. "But I also think you're not giving it a fair shot." There's no moment of silence of introspection to be had, just a twirl of her body to face him.

A single glance downward and she can see the body glitter shimmering off her arms, a laugh leaving her at the effect mixed with the lights.

One arm moves to rest on his shoulder, the other dangles from his clavicle and against his chest, fingertips dancing along the fine material of his shirt before she's taking the drink from his hand, lifting it to glossed lips to take a sip herself. "I never thought you'd be stiff on a dance floor considering the first time we danced together you wanted to spin me around." She presses the drink back to his chest.

"You're losing your touch, Damon." Bonnie hums, lashes fluttering against the apples of her cheeks.

There's glitter on his shirt now, a remembrance that she's been there. That she's not leaving so easily tonight.

Damon took the glass from her and drank from the exact spot her mouth had been without thinking twice about it. His eyes stayed on hers over the rim before he lowered the glass slowly and set it aside before it became another casualty of the crowd. “And for the record, I wasn’t stiff.” His hand slid around her waist again as the music shifted into something slower, heavier. “I was pacing myself.” That was a lie. Not a particularly good one either. Damon had spent the first part of the night complaining because that was easier than admitting he was having fun, and now he was tipsy enough that he couldn’t quite summon the energy to keep pretending. Bonnie was right there, one arm draped over his shoulder, the other still close enough that her fingertips brushed his shirt whenever either of them moved. The entire club felt blurred at the edges, reduced to bass and heat and the occasional flash of light over her face.

“You, on the other hand, are getting very confident.” There was amusement in it, not warning. His fingers flexed at her waist, guiding her with the rhythm before he drew back just enough to look at her properly. “Stealing my drink. Insulting my dancing. Glittering all over me.” Damon glanced down at himself again. “This is escalating fast, Bennett.”

When she asked him what happened next, his expression shifted into something slower. A little more dangerous. A little less thought out. That was probably the bourbon. Damon tilted his head, gaze dropping briefly to her mouth before returning to her eyes. “I don’t know.” The answer surprised even him. Usually, Damon had an answer for everything, whether it was true or not. Tonight, apparently, honesty had slipped past quality control. “I had something clever.” His brow furrowed faintly as though he might actually find it if he searched hard enough. “Pretty sure it was good too.” He gave up almost immediately. “Gone.” A laugh slipped out of him, quieter than usual, and Damon shook his head. “This is your fault.”

He was comfortable now, too warm, too entertained by the way she kept looking at him like she’d discovered something new and planned to poke at it until it reacted. “You wanted me to give this place a fair shot.” Damon stepped closer as the crowd shifted around them, his chest brushing hers now instead of hovering at a polite distance. “So I’m giving it a fair shot.”

Damon caught her hand before it could settle against his chest again and lifted it between them, inspecting the glitter that had transferred onto his fingers. “This stuff is everywhere.” He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand, spreading it rather than removing anything. “Well. Too late now.” Then, almost lazily, he guided her into another turn. Nothing flashy this time. Just enough to bring her back against him, his hand settling at her hip as he laughed under his breath when he nearly misjudged the timing by half a beat. Damon blinked. “That didn’t happen.” His expression immediately turned serious in the least convincing way possible. “You saw nothing.” The grin that followed ruined it.

Maybe sober Damon would have been more deliberate about this. Maybe he would have noticed how long his hand stayed against her waist or how easy it was to let his forehead hover close to hers when the crowd pressed them together again. He might have stepped away just to prove he could. Damon apparently had no interest in proving anything. His gaze wandered over her face, softer now, though the teasing never entirely disappeared. “You’re trouble tonight.” There was something fond buried beneath it. He seemed to realize that a second too late. “More than usual.”

EVERYDAY LIFE / DOMESTIC

📋 : how organized is your muse?

✅ : what do they pretend to have together that they don't?

🕰️ : what time do they naturally wake up when no one needs them?

☕ : what's their morning ritual, and what happens when it's disrupted?

🧺 : how often do they do laundry?

🪞 : do they look at themselves in mirrors, or avoid them? why?

🍽️ : do they eat to survive, for pleasure, or as comfort?

🏠 : what part of their living space reflects them the most?

🌱 : do they keep plants, and are those plants alive?

🧼 : what's something they're weirdly particular about being clean?

📺 : what do they put on when they don't want to think?

SOCIALIZATION / CONNECTION

🗣️ : are they better one-on-one, or in groups?

📱 : do they text back immediately, or let messages rot?

🫥 : how often do they pretend to be fine to keep the peace?

🎭 : how different are they with strangers versus people they trust?

🤝 : do they make friends easily, or accidentally?

🧠 : what do they assume people think about them?

🌘 : how hard is it to really know them?

🎉 : do they enjoy social events, or endure them?

🪑 : are they the type to leave early without saying goodbye?

INTROSPECT / INTERNAL LANDSCAPE

🕵️‍♀️ : how often does your muse think about death?

🧩 : what part of themselves do they not understand yet?

🫀 : what emotion scares them the most?

👣 : do they believe they deserve good things?

🧱 : what walls are they aware of building? which ones are they not aware of?

🕳️ : what do they spiral about at night?

📉 : what's their most common self-criticism?

💀 : do they trust their own memories?

🌊 : what emotion do they drown in when they're alone?

PERSONAL / DEEP / TRAUMA-ADJACENT

🩸 : what wound shaped them the most, even if they won't admit it?

🔥 : what moment do they replay when they're ashamed?

🧷 : who failed them first?

🕯️ : what do they grieve that no one else sees as a loss?

🪤 : what pattern do they keep falling back into?

🧨 : what pushes them past the point of restraint?

🧬 : what did they inherit emotionally from their caregivers?

🕶 : what lie do they tell themselves to survive?

🩹 : what actually helps them heal, even if it's unhealthy?

HABITS / VICES / COPING

🚬 : what vice do they justify the most?

🍺 : do they drink to socialize, numb, or celebrate?

💊 : what's their relationship with substances, past or present?

🏃 : do they move their body to feel alive or to punish it?

🛏️ : how do they sleep when things are bad?

🎧 : what kind of music gets them through the worst days?

🖊️ : do they write things down or let thoughts rot in their head?

☔️ : do they intellectualize pain instead of feeling it?

🕳️ : what habit would unravel them if taken away?

SEXUALITY / INTIMACY

🫠 : is it easy for them to get turned on, or do they need emotional safety first?

💞 : do they separate sex and feelings, or blur them dangerously?

🛑 : what's an immediate turn-off for them?

🔥 : do they crave intensity or stability?

🤲 : do they like being in control, or giving it up?

🪶 : are they gentle with people they desire?

🍒 : how do they feel about their own body during intimacy?

🎱 : what do they need to feel wanted?

🔒 : do they guard intimacy, or give it too freely?

💔 : have they ever used sex to avoid something?

MORALITY / CHOICES

⚖️ : what line will they never cross?

🩶 : what line have they already crossed and justified? or regret?

🧭 : do they believe they're a good person?

🔪 : what would they do if survival demanded cruelty?

🪙 : what do they value more, loyalty or truth?

🚪 : who would they abandon if forced to choose?

🕊️ : do they believe in forgiveness? for themselves? in others?

🧨 : what would make them snap permanently?

📜 : what promise do they regret making?

Fuck that and fuck him.

He didn’t get to do that. He didn’t get to say all those awful things and then turn around and be upset that she was leaving. Max wasn’t some toy he could just string along and play with when he felt like it, and then throw in the trash once he was done. She had more self-respect than that.

The hurt swiftly turned into anger. sparks igniting deep within her chest. Jaw tight, she glared at him, eyes burning holes into his skull as he snapped at her.

She threw the shirt in her hands into her duffle bag. “I’m sorry it’s so fucking embarrassing that someone thinks you might give a shit about me.” Her voice shook, anger underlying the words. Not enough to cover up the hurt. Just enough to sharpen it.

She turned on her heel. Stalked back to her closet, only to speed up, jolting forward unexpectedly, skidding to a stop just before she hit the back wall. She swore under her breath, but went back to grabbing clothes blindly from the hangers. It didn’t matter what she took with her. Who cared? Why she was bothering to pack anything, she wasn’t sure—it would have been better if she’d just left without a trace.

The things she’d grabbed were shoved into the bag before she moved on to the bathroom.

The worst part was that she wanted to believe Damon. Desperately. Max wanted nothing more than to take his words at face value and brush his conversation with Stefan off as nothing. But she couldn’t.

“Is this the ‘something halfway sincere’ that you say before we’re fine again?” Throwing his words back in his face unfortunately wasn’t as satisfying as she’d hoped it might be. The mirror on the medicine cabinet door shattered when she slammed it shut, shards falling to the floor, into the sink. She paid them no mind.

She almost threw her hairbrush at his head when he said he loved her.

“Don’t,” she snapped. “Don’t do that. You don’t get to do that.” The handle of the brush snapped in half in her grip, both pieces hitting the floor with a clatter. “You don’t get to say all that horrible shit and then be shocked when there are fucking consequences.”

Her hands trembled, but she didn’t stop moving. If she stopped, the full reality of the situation might catch up and completely paralyze her. Tears welled up in her eyes. She swiped them away angrily. “You know what the worst part is?” She could barely get the duffle bag zipped up, her hands were shaking so badly.

Max finally met his eyes. “The worst part is that I don’t even hate you. I love you. I still do. So fucking much. But I can’t…” Her breath hitched. “I can’t be with someone who can’t even stand to tell his own brother that he gives half a shit about me.”

His head snapped up. “Stop.” It came out quieter this time. Damon rubbed a hand over his mouth, giving a short, bitter laugh. “Yeah, I know. Pretty fucking rich coming from me.” His jaw tightened. “You want to hate me for what I said? Fine. You want to tell me you don’t trust me? I earned that. But don’t stand there and make yourself disposable because I was enough of an asshole to make you feel that way.” He stepped farther into the room. “You’re not a secret, Max. And I’m not embarrassed that Stefan knows I give a damn about you.” His mouth twisted. “Stefan’s been watching me make humiliating emotional decisions for a century and a half. That ship sailed sometime before indoor plumbing.” The humor disappeared almost immediately. “What embarrassed me was that he knew I was scared.” Damon swallowed, eyes holding hers now. “He knew what you meant to me. He knew exactly what it would do to me if you left, and I hated that he could see it when I couldn’t even say it.” His jaw flexed. “So I did what I’m apparently incredibly good at. I set the whole thing on fire before somebody else could.”

His gaze dropped for a second. “And you heard it.” There was no excuse following it. “That’s on me.” When she went back to the duffle, Damon tensed. His eyes tracked the movement automatically, catching the slight lack of control in it. She was still getting used to being fast. Still breaking things because her hands closed a little too hard, stopping herself a little too late. He’d seen plenty of new vampires go through it. That didn’t make watching Max struggle with it any easier.

His expression softened despite himself. “Strength and control aren’t the same thing. You’ve got plenty of the first one. The second one takes time.” He paused. “And I should be the person helping you figure that out, not the reason you’re accidentally murdering bathroom accessories.” The zipper on the bag moved.

“No.” Damon crossed the room before he could reconsider it, stopping between her and the doorway. He didn’t touch her or the bag. He just stood there. “Look at me first.” His voice sharpened. “Look me in the eye and tell me you actually believe I could replace you. Tell me there’s somebody else whose footsteps I know before she walks into the room. Somebody else whose coffee order I know even though I pretend I don’t pay attention. Somebody else who somehow got into every corner of my life without asking permission.” His jaw tightened. “Tell me I’m going to wake up tomorrow, find someone easier, and forget you Go ahead.”

He stared at her before breaking eye contact first, swearing under his breath. Damon paced two steps away and dragged both hands through his hair. He turned back. “You’re right. I don’t get to say something horrible and then throw three magic words at you and expect everything to be fine.” His voice lowered. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I said it, and I’m sorry I made you feel like something I would hide when you are probably the least hidden thing in my entire life.”

Damon’s eyes dropped toward the bag again. “I heard you leave, realized you’d heard me, and panicked. Then I got here, saw that thing, and panicked harder.” His mouth twitched without humor. “Apparently panic makes me charming.” The joke faded. “I’m not shocked there are consequences, Max.” His throat worked. “I’m terrified of them.” For once, he let that sit there.

“Tell me I ruined this past the point of fixing, and I’ll hear you.” Damon grimaced. “I’ll argue, obviously. I’m not suddenly becoming well adjusted.” His gaze locked onto hers again. “But don’t leave because you think you’re something I can replace. And don’t think I’m going to use you being new at this as an excuse to make the decision for you.” Slowly, visibly hating it, Damon stepped out of the doorway.

𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐭 -

01. avoids eye contact or looking at the floor. 02. wringing hands together in silence. 03. fidgeting with the hem of their shirt, unable to stay still. 04. looking at receiver in long silence before looking away. 05. silently leaves a folded note on the table in front of the other. 06. touches the others arm but pulls back out of guilt.

𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 -

01. slams fist onto a table without saying a word. 02. exhaling sharply through their nose and clenching their jaw. 03. throws an object across the room. 04. crossing their arms tightly, digging fingers into their own skin. 05. pacing the room with heavy steps. 06. glares at the other with a clenched fist.

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 -

01. gently pushing stray hair behind the others ear. 02. resting their forehead against the others. 03. cups the others face with both hands. 04. pressing a kiss to the others forehead in silence. 05. lingering touches against the others face. 06. wraps their arms around the other from behind and rests their head on the others shoulder.

𝐬𝐚𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 -

01. wiping their eyes before someone can notice. 02. pressing their face into a pillow to muffle sobs. 03. pulls the other into a desperate hug and wont let go. 04. silently reaching for the others hand, needing comfort. 05. walks into the room with red-rimmed eyes and no words.

𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 -

01. spins the other around without warning in a hug. 02. links arms with the other and tugs them along happily. 03. provides the other with a handmade gift. 04. tackles the other in a sudden and joyful hug. 05. kisses the others cheek unexpectedly and grins.

𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐫 -

01. backing away slowly and looking for exits. 02. hiding behind the other and peeking around. 03. flinches at sudden movement from the other. 04. presses their back against the wall with eyes darting around the room. 05. jumps at a noise and instinctively grabs the others hand.

𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠

01. tucks a blanket gently around the other person's shoulders. 02. applies a bandage with slow and deliberate care. 03. brings them food and water and watches to ensure they eat. 04. runs fingers through their hair in efforts to soothe. 05. rubs soothing circles on the others back while they cry. 06. stays silently by the others side in support without saying a word.

𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠